GloPoWriMo 2018 - day seventeen

Today the prompt is to write a poem about a 'family anecdote'.


Small things.

It is not uncommon, I find, to have people
Tell tales of things that happened to them
Years ago, or that happened to their aunt or
Perhaps their cousin, or their father even.
These tales are the constant thread that
Weaves through the tapestry of family
Gathering, whether at a funeral when all
Are reminiscing, or at a wedding or party.
It is far from uncommon for such tales
To be told in company, over coffee with friends,
Or a beer with colleagues at the end
Of a very long day.
For the person who has no such happy
Memories on which to draw, they are a mixed
Blessing; they entertain and amuse, but
They also remind the listener of their
Own inadequacies that stem from their
Abnormality or Difference.
An orphan, a child in care, a child who
Was ill for years, whose parent was in
And out and in and out of hospital perhaps?
A child who does not understand, who was
Bullied or ignored or abused.
The stories are small things, but they not only
Provide a thread in the tapestry of life, they
Can also be the knife that rips the tapestry
From top to bottom and leaves it
In irredeemable tatters.

GloPoWriMo 2018 - day twelve

Today the prompt is to write a haibun.



Redundant reservoir.

Many years ago I visited this valley with my grandfather, and it was a sea of construction,
fascinating to childish eyes, and the top of the valley was flooded already. There was a small
dam to hold back the early water from the moorland river, and the main valley was flattened
by bulldozers and diggers, farmhouses and cottages, barns and byres all demolished and left
as piles of debris and stone.

When I visited this valley with my grandfather there were some trees, they were young and
marched along the hillside in ranks, pine-treed soldiers fighting an imaginary war with the
native heather and bracken. Over time the trees grew and many have now been harvested,
not by men with horses as years ago, but by forwarders and chainsaws and heavy plant
running on petrol and diesel.

When I visit this valley now it is without my grandfather. When I visited with him he could
not have known that one day I would live just across the hill form this valley, and that I would
drive here several times a week and walk along the tracks and beside the lake. I have seen old trees
taken and sold, and new ones planted to take their place. I have seen new paths laid to replace
the old ones that meandered by the lake.

Today, when summer
Is hidden from view by pillow-soft
Clouds, I recall.

GloPoWriMo 2017 - day twenty five

Today the prompt is to explore a small space.


Comparison

The floor has flagstones, just like his did.
I have a shelf on one side, just like his did.
I have room to put things on the other side,
Exactly like his did.
Mine is not so today as his was.
Mine does not smell like his did.
Mine is not so complete.
I have never used sulphur.
But in so many ways it is just
Like his was.

(c) 2ndwitch, 25/04/17

GloPoWriMo 2017 - day six

Today the challenge is to write a poem that looks at something from different perspectives.

Turning Point.

One day
Is sufficient
Now.

There is waiting
Soft air
No noise.

A bustle
Of nurses
Attend.

Unexpected
The knock
On the door.

The long
And slow
Decline.

I
Have said
My goodbyes.

(c) 2ndwitch, 06/04/17